Then suddenly she remembered something from her dream: the small brown snake around Achilles’ ankle. She saw herself sitting on the ground, rocking Penthesilea once again, with the great warrior towering above her so close that she could smell his sweat. She also remembered that in that moment she’d seen bare, brown flesh and muscle showing beneath his highly polished leg armor.
“Except . . . for his heels,” she said, frowning and trying to recall them to her mind carefully. “His heels are vulnerable. The heavy armor doesn’t cover there.”
“His heels?” Paris was puzzled. “But even a direct sword cut there would do little to harm such a man.”
“That’s true,” Myrina agreed, then she suddenly laughed. “But we horsewomen see our greatest weapon as the bow. An arrow might bury itself deep in a man’s heel, and, were that arrow tipped with snake venom, I doubt he’d live.”
Paris was thoughtful and interested. “And would a snake lady have such a thing as snake venom?” he asked.
Myrina hesitated for a moment, but Penthesilea’s white face rose before her. Would it be dishonorable to kill a man so? Then she remembered with fury the bowing and courtesy of the three-day truce. The anger that it had brought rose in her again. “We Moon Riders do not fight for honor or gain,” she said grimly, “but for freedom.” She unfastened one of the smallest vials that swung from her belt, the stopper sealed well in place. It was Atisha’s most deadly weapon and she had never used it. “Here is your snake venom,” she said, holding it out to Paris. “The one who uses it must make a very accurate shot.”
“It shall be so,” said Paris.
Myrina turned to go, but then remembered a question that had been there in her mind since her talks with Akasya. “Why does not the great Hittite king send his warriors to rescue you?”
“Ah.” Paris smiled. “The Snake Lady knows everything. I had hoped that it would be so. When I stole Helen away from her home, I did it with confidence that such support would be given me, but . . . times have changed. The Hittite king has sent his armies to defend his lands in the south and in the east. The great Hittite empire itself must now fight off invasion. They have no warriors to spare for little, struggling Troy.”
Myrina sighed. It seemed that loyalty was as changeable as the wind these days.
“Those slave women who languish in the old weaving sheds—are they not your slaves? Did you not bring them back to Troy as your reward? Might you spare them and set them free?”
Paris shook his head. “Alas, they are my father’s slaves now, not mine. And though he is very old, my father is still the king of Troy.”
“Well . . . I have given you the means to take a great and powerful life. Might you not pay me back in kind? What I wish is to save many humble lives.”
Paris looked at her thoughtfully. “You make strange requests, Snake Lady, but if I am successful with my snake venom, then I swear that I will do all I can to help you.”
Myrina nodded her head. That sounded fair. It gave her a rather shivery feeling to be in league with the handsome cause of all the trouble.
Then at last as she went to leave he bowed and kissed her hand. “I have still never seen anyone dance on horseback like you,” he whispered.
Myrina wandered back to her chamber, her mind spinning with new possibilities.
The next day at noon Myrina was in her chamber when she heard the Trojans in the streets below cheering wildly. “What is that?” Coronilla murmured.
Cassandra came running up the palace stairs. “Achilles is dead,” she cried. “I can’t believe it! My brother Paris has shot him in the heel and he struggled for a while to get up, but then suddenly fell down dead.”
Wild singing and cheering was heard all about the citadel.
“They carry Paris through Troy shoulder high. He was never so popular before!”
Myrina nodded, unsurprised.
Cassandra came close to look at her face. “You knew!”
Myrina smiled up at her. “You are not the only one whose visions may speak the truth,” she said.
The joy inside the walls did not last for long, for it was only a few days afterward that Paris himself was brought back wounded by a deadly sword thrust. He lingered for a while but then died in Helen’s arms.
Myrina saw the terrible constriction there on the beautiful face, just for a moment, but very quickly the Queen of Sparta seemed to master her feelings and regain her composure. She retained her dignity throughout the prince’s funeral rites, but as the pyre burnt low, Deiphobus, Paris’s younger brother, stood up before the whole gathering and claimed the right to take Helen as his wife now that his brother was gone.
Helen’s composure slipped at last and an expression of terrified loathing was there for all to see. But then the queenly manner returned and Helen declined politely, saying that she must spend time in mourning for Paris.
But Deiphobus would not let it be: he was on his feet again, insisting that it was the tradition in Troy that a younger brother might claim his older brother’s widow.
King Priam bowed his head in agreement and declared that it was indeed the Trojan custom to take a dead brother’s wife if a man so wished, and he added sharply that the mourning must not last too long.
Helen bowed her acquiescence, but Cassandra and Myrina exchanged a troubled glance. They could not believe that Helen intended to spend the rest of her life in Deiphobus’s arms—indeed neither of them could blame her. The man was pushy and boastful and had an unpleasant, leering manner toward women. Myrina knew that she herself would do anything rather than be married to such a one.
Myrina found herself truly sad that the handsome prince of Troy was dead, but much worse was the knowledge that her new hopes of an easy rescue for the slaves had gone with him.
The fighting continued every day, though since the deaths of Penthesilea and Paris, the heart had gone out of the Trojan allies, who’d left their homelands to fight for this strategic city. Aeneas struggled dutifully to command them, but it was clear that many of them longed for their own hearthside and could see that there was little chance of Anatolia ever ridding itself of the huge Achaean force. It was more a question of how long it could hold out.
Food was diminishing and desperation grew, until the day when once again the sound of cheering was heard from the lookouts on the towers. Dust was rising in the east and a large band of warriors appeared over the horizon, coming from the direction of Mount Ida.
Coronilla was now able to walk again and, supported by Myrina and Akasya, she managed to struggle up the steps to the top of the Southern Tower.
The ragged people beneath them in the lower town waved and screamed out their joy. “The Ethiopians—the Ethiopians!”
Myrina’s heart thundered. Why had she not looked in her mirror of late? How could she have been so busy that she could forget to look for Tomi?
She stared wildly among the huge crowd of advancing riders, who were now making for the Southern Gate, unimpeded by the Achaeans, who sent out scouts to watch but did not interfere. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out who was who. King Memnon was not difficult to spot for he rode at the head of his warriors, and his neck and arms were covered in rich gold jewelery, a cloth of gold cloak floating out behind him, a broad gold circlet on his brow. His warriors were tall, with skin like gleaming obsidian, and many of them were also ornamented with gold.
Then suddenly she saw him. She should have looked for him in the place of honor, not among the following ranks. Tomi rode at the front, a Mazagardi warrior, in his tribal horsehide body armor, a full quiver at his back and bow strapped across his shoulders. He rode beside King Memnon on his light gray stallion, Moon Silver, and looked as brave and handsome as she remembered him.
Myrina’s hands were suddenly trembling; her knees seemed to turn to water. Did Tomi remember her? Had he kept his promise to wait for her? What would he think of her—a ragged, sorrow-worn warrior woman, whom life had battered hard since he last saw her?
/> CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
We Have Waited Long Enough
AS TOMI RODE in glory through the Southern Gate, Myrina did what she had never done; she left Coronilla and Akasya and ran to her chamber to hide. Once there she took up her mirror and stared critically at her reflection, searching not for visions but to see herself as he would see her. Her hair was dull with the dust that seemed to constantly swirl about the once elegant streets and her cheeks sunburnt, her sharp arrow pictures faded a little with every year that passed. Her smock was ragged about the neck; there had been no time for mending or self-adornment. Still her face was young and her eyes bright.
She remembered the day that she and Tomi had promised to stay unmarried and wait for each other. That was more than ten long years ago and she and Tomi were now adults; she was well past the age when a Moon Rider should return to her tribe and choose her husband. But now there were no Mazagardi home-tents to return to.
Cassandra came into her chamber, surprised to find her there. “They are here,” she cried. “The Ethiopians! What are you doing hiding away here?”
Myrina turned away from her mirror, self-doubt showing clearly in her eyes.
“He is looking for you,” Cassandra told her. “Your Tomi. He asks everyone for the Snake Lady and they direct him here and there, but he doesn’t know his way about. You must come and rescue him.”
“I wish . . . I wish I had the jewelery that I once had and a fine silk smock.” Myrina was suddenly stumbling over the words.
But Cassandra smiled and hugged her. “You forget one thing,” she said. “He is Mazagardi, same as you. When did Mazagardi look for a painted, delicate woman?”
Myrina laughed nervously. “I suppose you are right. But . . . when he sees Helen?”
“You have the strength that he needs,” Cassandra insisted. “You are a powerful survivor, Myrina; that’s the beauty of Mazagardi women. He would not want a painted butterfly like Helen. Put away your mirror and save it for its truest purpose. Come and find him, or you’ll regret it all your life.”
Myrina smiled at last. “Yes, Princess, I do your bidding, as ever.” She gave a mock bow and followed Cassandra downstairs.
Tomi saw her with the Trojan princess and pushed his way determinedly through the crowd toward her. Her fears were soon forgotten for, as soon as they could reach each other, he held his arms wide and hugged her tightly. He kissed her on the lips, then gently rested his cheek against hers, sighing deeply. “I have longed for this,” he whispered.
Myrina sighed, too, and with that sigh all the hardness and struggle of the last few months vanished. “I, too,” she replied, realizing only now how much she had longed for this loving intimacy.
“Do you still wait for a husband?” he whispered, throwing aside any formality or shyness, pulling back to look her straight in the face.
She looked back at him. This was her Tomi and yet he was not; he was a strong, confident man, matured by years in the saddle, honored by the Ethiopian king, and yet she still felt completely comfortable with him. “I wait for you,” she whispered.
“Well, here I am.” He laughed and swung her around. “Why should we wait any longer? Let us have our wedding now—at once.”
“Yes, yes.” Coronilla was beside them, picking up on his words. She looked flushed and well, better than she’d seemed at any time since Penthesilea’s battle. “Let us have a wedding! Oh, do let us have a wedding! It is just what we all need!”
Myrina’s face clouded over. “But, Tomi . . . you know what happened . . . at the Lake of Kus?”
Tomi nodded solemnly.
“Your mother and father, too!” she spoke gently.
“Yes.” His voice shook a little. “I know it all. Such terrible news travels far and fast.”
“And little Yildiz?”
Tomi bowed his head. “Cassandra has told me of her courage.” Then he looked her full in the face again. “There is great sorrow all about us, but the sadness only makes you more dear and precious to me. I am more certain than ever that we should not waste any time. We must wed now, while we still have the chance.”
“But . . .” She hesitated, remembering her plans for the slave women and determined to be truthful. “I have plans that I must carry out and I fear that I am not yet ready to melt down my mirror to make a marriage bangle, as a good Mazagardi woman should.”
“I do not ask it. In these strange times we have to change. I do not want a marriage bangle; I want you, Myrina the Snake Lady.”
She looked up at him, laughing. “Very well then, Tomi of the Mazagardi tribe, I choose you to be my husband.”
Coronilla could not contain her excitement and Cassandra spoke at once to her father, who declared the feast a double celebration: to honor King Memnon and to celebrate the Snake Lady’s marriage.
“Now you must deck yourself out with finery,” Coronilla cried, and even Cassandra would not allow her to object. They snatched her away from Tomi and dragged her upstairs into her chamber. They had been there only a few moments before Helen and her waiting women appeared carrying silken gowns and jewelery and little pots of paint.
Helen came and kissed Myrina on both cheeks and insisted on giving her a gown. “Yes, yes,” she said. “A marriage celebration is very much needed here in Troy and if it’s yours, my dear, then at least I can put off Deiphobus for a little while longer.”
The waiting women exchanged glances. Helen’s revulsion for the younger prince of Troy was shared by all of them.
So Myrina allowed them to paint her face and decorate her neck and hair with Helen’s jewels. She chose a simple linen gown the color of fresh goat’s milk, and by the time the feast was ready the Moon Riders had come to her chamber to lead her down.
The feasting hall was crowded with hosts and guests. King Memnon had brought his own contribution to the food stocks, for a herd of goats and sheep had been driven in the wake of the warriors. The Trojans were cheered enormously by the sight of so much food and raised their beakers to the Snake Lady, who through her warrior husband had brought them fresh supplies of food once again. King Memnon was given the seat of honor next to Priam, while Helen spoke charmingly to everyone and acted capably as hostess. Hecuba wandered vaguely among the guests, looking for her son. Andromache sat quietly in the corner with her little boy Astyanax. There were amused murmurings and whisperings that Helen might prefer the old man to the young prince Deiphobus, and general agreement that marriage to anyone else would be better.
Myrina suddenly felt that something was missing; she looked about her for Akasya and saw that she was serving food with the other slave women, who had been kept late in the palace to wait on the guests. Myrina marched over to her, apologized to the elderly Trojan warrior whom Akasya was serving and made her come to stand beside her as witness to the Mazagardi hand-fasting ceremony. There were small gasps of shock that the Snake Lady should want a slave to take that role, but Akasya rose to the moment and conducted herself as though she’d acted as witness many times before.
The remaining Moon Riders, only thirty in number, danced in a circle about the couple. They moved to the sound of cymbals, bringing the blessings of Mother Maa to their union. Tomi could not wipe the huge smile from his face and Myrina fell into a happy daze, unsure whether this was a dream or not, but as it seemed a wonderful dream she allowed it to lead her where it would.
King Memnon stooped from his great height and kissed her; then he handed her a round box of scented cedarwood with a crescent moon carved on its lid. “I have heard nothing but praise of the fierce and beautiful Snake Lady,” he told her, laughing as he imitated a lovesick Tomi. “So I decided to have a fine present made for this famous one.”
Myrina opened the box and found inside a most beautifully crafted golden bangle in the shape of a coiled snake. Tomi pushed it into place on her arm, where it curled magnificently from wrist to elbow, echoing the dark, fading pattern of her body picture.
“There. You have your marriage bangle a
fter all,” Tomi whispered.
Myrina didn’t know how to thank King Memnon, but he laughed loudly and brushed her thanks aside. “Were it not for your Tomi, we’d still be lost in the mountains,” he said. “And though this night be joyful, we must not forget that we fight in the morning and go early to our beds.”
They went, obedient and exhausted, Myrina leading Tomi up to her chamber, after Coronilla had tactfully whispered that she’d be sleeping in Cassandra’s quarters from now on.
Coronilla and Akasya had found time secretly to strew Myrina’s bed with sharp-scented lavender. For a while she and Tomi lay contentedly together in each other’s arms, but then she sat up. “This is not for us,” she whispered.
Tomi sat up quickly, distressed.
“No, no!” Myrina laughed. “I mean that a bed enclosed by thick walls is not the place for Mazagardi lovers. I want to be outside beneath the silver moonlight, with the warm earth beneath us and the scent of poppies in the air.”
Tomi smiled at her again.
They slipped out of the palace and up to the hidden gate. The guards there grinned at them but said nothing, so they climbed a little way up the slope and found a place of soft grass, sheltered by olive trees. They lay down together with the hillside at their back and the dark blue Aegean in the distance before them.
“You do not regret this, Snake Lady?” Tomi asked.
“No,” she said firmly. “You and I have waited long enough.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Secret Plans
THEY WERE SO comfortable and sheltered beneath the olive trees that the bright morning sun did not wake them. Myrina slept deeply, warm and restful as she snuggled close to Tomi. She had not slept so thoroughly since long before this land had been troubled by war. It was the distant sound of horns and trumpets that eventually woke them. They sat up, knuckling the sleep from their bleary eyes, to see that the sun was well up in the sky and King Memnon was leading his warriors out through the Southern Gate to face the Achaeans. The gold of their weapons and jewelery glinted in the morning sun and they looked magnificent.
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